


You Took More Than My Dog When You Ran Off With My Dog

by positronic



Series: Two Sides of the Same Coin [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Crying, Fraction!Clint, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, Minor Character Death, Pets, Post-Hawkeye #13, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 13:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21392725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/positronic/pseuds/positronic
Summary: Kate had swept in and taken Lucky with her on her trek to California, and any sense of home Clint had went with him.
Relationships: Barney Barton & Clint Barton
Series: Two Sides of the Same Coin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542283
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	You Took More Than My Dog When You Ran Off With My Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Saint Motel's "To My Enemies." I think that song fits Clint well, though not his relationship with Kate. The line just fit too perfectly with the plot of the 2012-2015 Hawkeye comic so I had to use it.
> 
> Disclaimers: I don't own the characters, this is for fun, you know the drill.

It’s funny how the loneliest moments are often those when you’re around others.

Behind him, Clint can hear the faint rumble of conversation as the apartment building occupants take Barney under their wing almost immediately. Clint knows it should make him happy that they’re so willing to accept anyone he brings to them, but all it does is bring a sour taste to his mouth. 

The feeling of grief following Grills’ death still lingers in the air, creeping like vines up Clint’s spine, curling around his throat and making him feel like can’t breathe. The guilt claws at him, threatening to pull him under.

Clint takes a shaky breath and bows his head where he’s leaning against the brick wall of the roof, fighting back the sob that’s welling up in him. The cold evening air bites at his face, burns his lungs even though it’s the purest thing he’s come across in a long time, New York smog and all. His fingertips scrape against the rough brick beneath them, and the brief moment of pain centers him, just a little.

It occurs to Clint that this is the loneliest he’s been in a long time. Barney is here, but he’s not _ here _. Even though he’s the only family Clint’s got (whatever that word means), it doesn’t feel much like a homecoming. Their relationship is so many levels of complicated that Clint doesn’t even know where to start. He’s family, but they can’t even begin to understand each other, not the people they are today. 

He doesn’t have the Avengers; they’re just work friends. Most of the time Clint feels like they tolerate him at best, only wanting him to live for the sake of the team. There’s a part of him that doesn’t feel like they value him past his skill set.

He doesn’t have Bobbi, or Jess, or Natasha. None of them stick around to _ talk _ to him. Sure they care about him, and he cares about them, but there’s a level of disconnect there now that makes Clint ache.

And now he doesn’t have Kate. Or Lucky. God, Lucky. That ridiculous dog has been the best thing to happen to Clint in a long time. Having Lucky around, the phrase “man’s best friend” had suddenly made a lot more sense. Lucky had been a constant source of love and affection and he had been a great listener as Clint rambled into the night. Clint missed the rhythmic thumping of his tail against the floor as he ate pizza, the wet bump of his nose against Clint’s throat early in the morning, begging to be taken on a walk. 

Now Lucky was gone, and every sense of comfort and real companionship Clint had went with him. 

Obviously Clint doesn’t hold it against Kate. He loves her and knows that she needed some time away. As much as he’ll miss her in her trek to the West coast, he knows it’s something she needs. A little independence, a chance to shine on her own. Clint knows she’ll kick ass, and Lucky will serve her well as a travelling companion, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

The weight of all of it is starting to eat at Clint’s chest, and he takes another deep, shaky breath. The last rays of sunshine have disappeared from the horizon, and a few stars have started to peek through the light pollution. 

“Hey,” a voice from his right says, and Clint turns to see Aimee smiling at him softly. Her leather jacket is zipped up tightly around her neck, but her legs are only covered in shorts and fishnet. She must be freezing. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Clint asks before he can stop himself, and he grimaces slightly.

Aimee rolls her eyes but shakes her head. “I’m fine. Came to ask if you wanted a hot dog. We’ve got plenty.”

She almost stutters over the end of the sentence, quickly snapping her jaw shut once she gets the words out. Clint can practically see the tension in her jaw, in her neck, and he swallows thickly. Any small sense of hunger he had had before Kate left had disappeared when he tried to force himself to eat that bowl of cereal. Clint shakes his head.

“I, uh, no thank you. I think I’m just gonna turn in early,” he says, voice strained. Aimee doesn’t comment on it and nods, giving him a small, shaky smile before turning around and heading back to the group.

Clint turns around to take one last look at the expanse of New York in front of him (what he can see of it, at least), takes a deep breath, and follows after her. He manages to skirt around the group, singling out Barney where he’s standing talking to Zeke, the two of them sipping on beers. Barney sees him approaching and gives him a soft smile.

“Nice people you got here,” he says as Clint slides up next to him. 

A small sense of pride wells up in Clint, and he lets himself smile a bit in response. 

“Thanks,” he says, then the grief begins to rise up in his throat again. “Hey, uh. I’m heading off to bed. I’ll leave the door unlocked, just lock it when you get in. Feel free to take the couch, and anything in the kitchen is yours if you want it. We can get breakfast in the morning, or uh, something.”

Barney looks conflicted at the information, and Clint can tell he wants to protest Clint’s early departure, but Clint doesn’t let him.

“Night, Barney,” he says, leaving as quickly as he came, barely registering the “Night, Clint,” he hears as he retreats. 

The echo of his footsteps in the stairwell feels almost symbolic as Clint descends the stairs, feeling just as hollow as it is. He pushes his front door open and strips his shoes and pants as he walks up the stairs to his bed. The shoes are thrown haphazardly at the end of the bed along with the pants and his sweater. 

Clint climbs into bed and collapses face first onto his pillow, grimacing at the smell of dirty dog. Lucky had needed a bath before Kate had taken him, and Clint hopes she takes him to a nice groomer rather than bathing him on the side of the road. Lucky deserves nothing but the best. 

As gross as the smell is, it’s so uniquely _ Lucky _ that Clint feels something in his chest catch, and soon his pillow is growing damp with tears. He bites his lip to keep from sobbing, trying to block out the tidal wave of emotion threatening to flood over him. His fingers grip his pillow tightly, pulling it against him. 

The cotton is soft beneath his fingers, worn with use, and Clint buries his face deeper into the pillow. He reaches blindly behind him to pull his comforter up and over him, completely overpowering his senses with the scent and feel of _ home_. This is his home. Here, with his worn down apartment and disaster of tenants and Lucky, but now Grills is dead and Lucky is gone and Clint has nothing.

He knows things will get better and Kate will come back with Lucky and the building will rebuild from this tragedy, but the grief and loneliness is so overwhelming that Clint feels suffocated by it. 

Clint forces his head up from the pillow, sucking the cool evening air into his lungs, before flipping around to collapse onto his back. The walls next to his bed are bare but Clint stares at them anyway, tracking along the breaks in the brick with his eyes. After a moment he sighs and throws an arm over his eyes, forcing himself to succumb to the creeping tendrils of sleep. 

He can’t wait until Lucky comes back.


End file.
